


what do you know about me (that i haven't whispered in your ear)

by orchardsky



Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: Angst, During Canon, F/F, Fluff, Season 1, even more yearning, relationship progression, scylla is a terrible secret agent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:15:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25011490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchardsky/pseuds/orchardsky
Summary: Raelle finishes lacing up her boots and reaches for Scylla’s arm, pulling her off the bed and flush onto her body. She kisses her for a dizzying moment and goes to step away, but Scylla holds her steady by the waist.“You’re a player, Private Collar,” she smirks, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek. “And you talk in your sleep. I can add that to the short list of things I know about you.”or:Scylla makes it her mission to learn more about her mark. It backfires, to say the least.
Relationships: Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Comments: 34
Kudos: 214





	what do you know about me (that i haven't whispered in your ear)

Scylla is in a bit of a compromising position when she realizes how little she actually knows about the girl she’s been tasked to deceive. 

She knows that her name is Raelle Collar. She has icy eyes, a ridiculous death wish, and a smile that feels strangely familiar. She’s reckless and clings to a burning rage that rivals Scylla’s; it’s like looking into some messed-up mirror of resentment and grief and _look what the world did to us._ She’s beautiful too, which makes the job easier. 

Perhaps more importantly, Scylla knows that Raelle has soft lips and a hot tongue, which are currently attacking her neck in such a sinful fashion that she’s having trouble reciting her recruitment speech. She closes her eyes and forgets.  


…  


Scylla wakes up early the next morning feeling warmer than she has in years.

She carefully attributes this newfound warmth to the morning sunlight and not the girl sleeping peacefully next to her, though she takes a moment to relish in the previous night’s memories; she still feels a whisper of tantalizing hands on her skin and soft words in her ear and figures that even double agents deserve a little fun.

Scylla feels the sudden urge to prop herself up on one elbow and watch Raelle sleep, but she pushes the thought away and silently chastises herself for falling victim to morning-after affection like some lovesick teenager. She sits up instead, smiles at the fact that the constant roar in her head seems to have temporarily quieted, and enjoys comfortable silence until she hears an unintelligible mumble from the girl next to her. Scylla peers over, but Raelle is still in deep slumber; she gazes at the blonde for a second too long before turning her attention elsewhere. 

Minutes pass before she hears something again. It’s barely a murmur, but Scylla makes out words that sound vaguely like “shuddup” and “bellweather.” She looks over and yet again, Raelle is fast asleep. Scylla stifles a giggle as a look of delight spreads across her face. 

Raelle Collar, in all her storm and fury, talks in her sleep. And it’s kind of cute. 

It continues like that for a while, morning calm interrupted only by the sounds of birds chirping and the occasional drowsy word from Raelle. Most of it is indiscernible, but every so often Scylla catches something recognizable like _No_ or _Stop_ or _Mom._ And then:

“Scylla.” The brunette feels a tightness in her chest at the thought of Raelle sleep-talking about _her,_ but she looks over and finds two blue eyes beaming up at her. She’s struck by the sudden realization that she doesn’t want to hurt this girl. In fact, she’s never wanted to lie to someone less. 

“Hi,” Scylla says softly. “You’re up.”

Raelle props herself up on an elbow and raises a brow suggestively at her, eyes gleaming. “Hey. You come here often?” 

The brunette gives her a playful roll of the eyes and is about to reply with something equally as ridiculous when there’s the distant chime of bells and Raelle leaps up, nearly knocking her over in the process. 

“Sorry,” the blonde grins, glancing around the room for her clothes. “Won’t be able to see you again if Bellweather kills me for being late.” 

Scylla grabs Raelle’s pants from the floor and tosses them to her with a laugh as Raelle retrieves the rest of her clothes, carelessly strewn around the room from the night before. Scylla sits on the side of the bed and watches her quietly.

“You talk in your sleep,” she says after a minute, not entirely sure why. 

Raelle pauses for a moment as she throws on her jacket, a hint of unease in her voice. “What kinda stuff was I saying?” 

“Nonsense, mostly,” Scylla replies casually. “Something about Bellweather. Want me to work my Necro magic on her?” 

The other girl’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “Are you—”

“I’m joking. Believe it or not, I’m capable of both seducing you _and_ being funny.” 

“Oh please, we both know _I_ seduced you.”

Raelle finishes lacing up her boots and reaches for Scylla’s arm, pulling her off the bed and flush onto her body. She kisses her for a dizzying moment and then goes to step away, but Scylla holds her steady by the waist.

“You’re a player, Private Collar,” she smirks, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek before pushing her gently towards the door. “And you talk in your sleep. I can add that to the short list of things I know about you.”

“You can find out more,” Raelle says honestly. She turns around, hand on the doorknob. “Tonight?”

Scylla nods and the blonde exits the room with a quick wave and a blinding grin. The room is suddenly cold again, but the brunette feels giddy; she’s gaining the trust of her mark in record time and success is within her reach. In the moment, she’s able to convince herself that her sole source of happiness is the mission. 

“Raelle Collar,” Scylla whispers to nobody. She smiles at the words.

* * *

“So,” Raelle starts, casual tone betrayed by a nervous smile. “Tally and Abigail and I, we’ve been doin’ okay in training and we get to go to off base to Salem Town. As a reward, I guess.”

They’re sitting opposite each other on Scylla’s bed, unwinding after another long day. They’re supposed to be studying but they’ve spent the past hour sneaking glances at each other and laughing about stupid things, more natural than they should be. 

“Guess I haven’t been such a bad influence after all,” Scylla teases. She’s expecting some flirtatious response from the other girl but there’s an awkward moment of silence before Raelle speaks again.

“Maybe you could come with?” Raelle thinks for a second before continuing, words rushed. “If you want to, obviously. If you’re not busy doing things.” 

Scylla looks up from her notebook with a wicked grin and raises her eyebrows at the other girl. “Are you asking me on a date, Collar? On your military-sanctioned, ‘good behavior’ field trip?” 

“Would you say yes if I was?” 

“I’m not sure,” Scylla hums, clicking her tongue. “Nobody likes a teacher’s pet. Kind of a turn-off.” 

The air between them changes in an instant as Raelle surges forward and pushes Scylla onto her back, pressing her arms into the mattress. The brunette’s mind goes blank and she drives her head up to catch Raelle’s lips, but the other girl dodges it and tilts her head to place a searing kiss on Scylla’s jaw instead. 

“That’s a shame,” Raelle says, breath hot against Scylla’s ear. “Could’ve been fun.”  


...  


They’re laying together later when Scylla finally answers the other girl’s question.

“I would love to, but I have training,” she says earnestly. “But I’m glad you asked, really. I want to spend more time with you.” 

The blonde smiles gently and presses a kiss onto Scylla’s shoulder. “Me too.” 

There’s comfortable silence for a few minutes and Scylla feels like she could melt into the warmth of the girl beside her. Her eyes travel around the room, landing on the mirror, and she’s filled with a sudden sense of dread; everything feels wrong for a moment and Scylla realizes that she’s making the mistake of getting used to Raelle. Her mannerisms, the way she looks as she wakes up, the sound of her voice. She’s treading a thin line.

“What’s your ideal date?” The brunette asks abruptly, anything to distract from the turmoil in her head. She’s acutely aware of how ridiculous it sounds to be talking about something so far out of her grasp.

Raelle thinks for a moment before pulling Scylla closer to her. “There’s this hill back home,” she murmurs, voice heavy with nostalgia. “It’s not much, but it’s perfect for a picnic. And on clear nights, you can lay down and the sky is just— it’s just filled with stars.”

“It sounds beautiful.” They’re face to face now, mere inches apart.

Raelle nods and she’s looking at the brunette with so much affection and trust that Scylla can’t handle it. Overwhelmed, she breaks the silence and the moment.

“You like picnics and stargazing, I’ll have to add that to the list of things I know about you.” she muses, trying to maintain her usual coy tone despite the lump in her throat. “It’s getting longer by the day.” 

The other girl just smiles. “What about you? Your ideal date?” 

Scylla’s mind is suddenly filled with images of a beach, of crashing waves and blue skies and watching the sun go down across the horizon. She pushes it all away. “I don’t know, but yours sounds better.” 

Before Raelle can respond Scylla brings a hand to her cheek and bridges the short distance between them. If the blonde recognizes her avoidance, she doesn’t mention it; she just pulls Scylla close and melts into the kiss, and everything is calm again.

Raelle leaves a little while later and Scylla spends a little too long watching the door after she’s gone. She can skip training for a night, she decides. Some time off base is the perfect opportunity to get closer to her mark, to advance her mission. 

It’s a date, she thinks, and her heart flutters at the thought.

* * *

It becomes something of a running joke between them; whenever Scylla learns something about Raelle, whether it be her favorite pizza topping or a childhood memory, she says she’ll add it to her “list.” It’s just a joke, obviously, something to keep things light. Something Scylla can use to steer the conversation in the direction she chooses, far away from questions about her likes and dreams and her past. 

But it’s not a joke, because some nights desire claws at her and Scylla feels the overwhelming urge to open a notebook and scribble down every single thing she knows about Raelle. She wants to catalogue every fact she’s learned about the girl, wants to spell her name over and over again on the page. The curve of the R, the neat loop of the L. _Raelle, Raelle, Raelle._ She wants to write it until she’s dizzy.

These burning inside her is getting harder to ignore, but Scylla is nothing if not stubborn.  


…  


“You know, normally people who make lists like that are stalkers or something,” Raelle quips one day as they walk down a cobblestoned path, weaving through throngs of cadets on their way back from training.

Scylla gives her a wide, all-too-mischievous grin, the same expression she wore on the day she had fatefully told the blonde to _live a little._ She reaches over and kisses Raelle’s cheek, lingering a moment to whisper in her ear.

“I think we’re past that point, Raelle,” she says in a low voice. “Considering your tongue has been—"

Raelle coughs loudly enough that the people near them turn around, her face suddenly a brilliant shade of red, and Scylla can’t help but laugh as she grasps the other girl's hand and pulls her closer. They’re a couple days away from Beltane so maybe it’s that energy-- or maybe Raelle just has a natural magnetism to her-- but Scylla feels like she’s been doing this her whole life. 

She should consider their natural connection a strength, because somewhere between “Sounds like a freight train,” and “I’ve been burned before,” Scylla had managed to get Raelle in the palm of her hand. The completion of her mission is easily within reach and that means staying loyal to the Spree, who have been her home for the past three years. 

She looks up at Raelle, who’s languidly running a hand through her hair as she talks about something that happened in training. She catches Scylla’s eye and smiles like she always does, gives the brunette’s hand a firm squeeze. For a moment, Scylla forgets about the loneliness that’s constantly gnawing at her. 

Home is starting to look a bit different.

* * *

“Anacostia is going to lose her _mind_ if she sees you shitbirds.” 

“It’s nice to see you too, High Atlantic.” 

The glare that Abigail gives her could probably cut steel, but Scylla just smiles sweetly from her spot on Raelle’s bunk and turns her attention to the other, friendlier girl in the room. “Hi Tally, how are you?”

Tally flashes her dimpled grin and launches into an enthusiastic rant about the events of Beltane, practically bouncing around as she excitedly recounts parts of her night. She nearly collides with Raelle as the blonde walks through the door and tosses a worn hoodie at Scylla.

“It’s cold out,” she explains, and Scylla shouldn’t feel as happy as she does about such a small gesture. “You ready?”

The previous night, Raelle had been staring out the window pensively for some time before suddenly turning to Scylla, all bright eyes and nervous smile. _Tomorrow, midnight,_ she had said. _Let’s go for a walk. I have something to show you._ Naturally the brunette had questions, but Raelle was adamant in surprising her; so here they are, adorned in hoodies and sweatpants, ready for their mysterious and curfew-defying midnight walk. The romance of it all is enticing, Scylla has to admit.

They exit the room in a chorus of “Have fun!” and “If your sorry asses get caught, just know I warned you!” Despite the obscenities that Raelle throws back, there’s affection in her voice.

“Always nice to see the unit,” Scylla laughs. The blonde just shakes her head and loops their fingers together, and for a moment it feels they’re a regular couple in a regular world. Not a pair of witches making the most of forced military service; just two girls, hand in hand, stepping out into the night air. 

Despite Scylla’s disdain for the place, she can’t help but appreciate how peaceful Fort Salem is at night. They’re surrounded by the brilliant shadows of moonlit trees, the only sounds being of their own soft footsteps and stifled laughter as they duck officers on guard duty. She follows Raelle as they carefully weave through several paths and gardens, cherishing the feeling of their clasped hands. The night air is invigorating and Scylla feels free. 

They finally reach a dense, forested area and Raelle pauses for a moment to run her hand through Scylla’s hair, kissing her like she’s the most delicate thing in the world. Scylla relishes the sensation and before she realizes what’s going on, Raelle pulls her through the trees and into a small clearing. She lets out a gasp.

Every inch of the clearing is covered in the most beautiful flowers Scylla has ever seen. Each one bursts with a vibrant shade of blue, petals exploding outwards as if extending a welcoming hand; it’s like stepping into an crystalline ocean. Most amazingly, the flowers are _glowing._ Literally, they’re giving off a dreamlike blue light that illuminates the space, exuding warmth and wonder and everything in between.

Scylla turns to Raelle in disbelief, words caught in her throat. Her heart pounds against her chest.

“They’re blue hibiscus flowers,” the blonde offers. “The first time I saw them I was speechless too. I don’t know why they glow, but it’s so…” 

“Breathtaking.” Scylla finishes. Her voice is barely a whisper. “How do you know this place?”

“This is my secret spot,” Raelle says, a playful twinge to her words. “You’ll have to add this to that list of yours."

“This might be my favorite one yet.” 

Raelle chuckles and pulls the brunette towards her, arms wrapping around her waist so that Scylla’s back is flush against her chest. She warmly rests her hands atop Raelle’s and there’s a trace of nervousness in the blonde’s smile, but Scylla is too distracted by her eyes and her lips and her hands and her _everything_ to notice.

“I was going to keep this just for me,” Raelle says hesitantly. “When I first got here, I decided that this would be my own spot, where I could be alone and have this beautiful thing to myself.”

The rest goes unsaid, but Scylla understands loud and clear: _I don’t need this to myself anymore. I have you._

Raelle's eyes are shining and Scylla feels a rush of emotion as she’s hit by a frenzy of absurd ideas: she could defect the Spree, she could confess her secret, she could abandon the mission. She could take Raelle and run away from it all. 

Reality crashes down on her in an instant and she’s struck by the image of her parents’ smiles, of faceless military officers storming through their front door. She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, overwhelmed and afraid of the mess in her head.

“Thank you for sharing this with me. You...” Scylla falters, unable to convey the whirlwind in her chest. “This is really special, Raelle.” _You make me feel special,_ she wants to say. 

Raelle smiles and presses a warm kiss just below her ear and in that moment, Scylla loves her. She just does. 

They stand there for what feels like an eternity, illuminated only by crisp moonlight and the faint glow of the hibiscus flowers. Scylla glances down at their hands and sinks further into Raelle’s arms. A whisper of _I think I love you_ ghosts her lips.

She suppresses the words but not the feeling, and when she gets back to her dorm that night she feels the screaming urge to shatter the mirror into a million pieces. She wants to smash her fist into it and see her reflection crack, all bloody knuckles and broken glass and freedom. 

_I’m fucked,_ she thinks. _I’m so, so fucked._

* * *

Scylla isn’t expecting the knock at her door.

Raelle is off at some nighttime training exercise and Scylla has taken the night to indulge in her sketchbook; it’s the only hobby she has, the only thing other than Raelle that calms her and tears her away from reality. It’s nearing midnight and she’s not really in a place to accept visitors, considering her disheveled look and the mess of paper and pencil on her bed. 

Another knock rattles the door, more forceful this time, followed by an immediate rush of panic. Scylla places a hand on her neck, skin still tender from her last Spree encounter. She wonders if they’ve sent another agent to choke her out for not yet securing an invite to the Bellweather wedding, if this time they’ve sent someone who won’t be afraid to kill her. A wave of fear holds her in place as the knocks continue. 

“Scyl? You there?”

Scylla could almost cry from relief as she springs toward the door, forgetting all else as she envelops Raelle in a tighter hug than usual. The blonde embraces her with equal vigor and a gentle laugh, and Scylla realizes that she doesn’t feel like an undercover operative at all. Right now, she’s just a person wanting another person. 

She’s struck by the notion that if she cut herself open and laid the truth out right now, maybe Raelle could forgive her and they could put it all behind them. This time she doesn’t push the thought away, lets the feeling marinate as Raelle’s soft “hey, beautiful” spreads warmly throughout her body. She lets herself be soothed. 

“I thought you had training,” she mumbles into the other girl’s shoulder.

“Ended early. I sprinted here ‘cause I wanted to see you so bad.”

They go through their usual motions of soft kisses and casual conversation until Raelle notices the mess on the bed. Scylla curses herself for not hiding her materials before opening the door, because there’s no denying it now; there’s no way that Raelle won’t see the pencils and pens and that damn notebook, and not understand what Scylla has been hiding from her. 

“Sketchbook.” The brunette explains, trying desperately to sound normal despite the anxiety that washes over her. 

Raelle sits down on the bed and rests her fingers on its leather cover. She looks up at Scylla, a silent plea of _let me in_ evident in her soft expression. “Can I see?”

And there it is. A heavy moment of silence and finally, a decision. Scylla nods quickly and it feels like a moment of reckoning.

For a second, she pretends that this is just another small piece of information that she’ll feed to Raelle, information about herself divulged to create the illusion of closeness. It’s impersonal. A strategic sacrifice for the mission. 

But it’s not, because Scylla isn’t telling Raelle about herself to gain her trust or further the mission; she just _wants_ her to know. Scylla wants Raelle to know about her hobbies and her passions and her secrets. She wants Raelle to love her for them. 

Scylla knows this, finally understands it after hours of ignoring how lucky and beautiful and sane Raelle makes her feel, and she knows what’s going to happen because of it. She almost laughs at the thought of what will happen to her when the inevitable happens and everything crashes and burns. Scylla might’ve found it romantic if it wasn’t so devastating; Raelle Collar might quite literally be the end of her. 

The sound of flipping pages hurtles her back into reality and she watches Raelle’s face, alight with wonder, as the blonde works through the notebook and studies her messy sketches. There are pages of mushrooms, sketched with rough detail; a few drawings of a beach and its crashing waves; a crude caricature of Alder; a delicate drawing of her parents; and finally, Raelle turns to the page of, well, herself.

Scylla can’t help but blush as Raelle examines the drawings of herself. By now, Scylla is well versed at penciling Raelle’s strong features; the curve of her jaw, the twist of her braids, and the squint of her eyes are all simple muscle memory after hours of sketching her. She would be embarrassed if it weren’t for the awe in Raelle’s smile as she traces her fingers across the page.

Scylla insists that they’re nothing special, but if anything, these drawings are a love letter. They’re the idea that Scylla has so carefully studied Raelle’s face that she can recreate it, the implication that she draws Raelle because she can’t stop thinking about her. Both are true. Raelle looks up at her, speechless. 

“We were always running,” Scylla says, and she feels raw. “But no matter where we went, we always managed to find a pencil and paper, so…”

She tapers off, hit by the memory of her father’s smiling face. _Wow, kid,_ he would say, peering over her shoulder as she scribbled away. _You’ll give Picasso a run for his money._

Raelle nods and her eyes scream understanding, and for the first time the thought of her parents doesn’t fill Scylla with blind rage and the thirst for vengeance. Instead, she wonders what her parents would have thought of Raelle, what their first meeting would have gone like. They would have welcomed her into the family with open arms, she thinks. They were welcoming people.

Scylla wants to say something but she’s dangerously on the verge of crying and the words keep getting caught in her throat. Raelle senses it, of course she does, and she reaches over to take Scylla into her arms because _god,_ she’s a good person. Scylla can do nothing but bury her face into Raelle’s neck and breathe in her scent and pretend that everything is okay. 

The other girl just holds her, whispers calming words into her ear and kisses her hair, moves her so that Scylla’s head is on her lap and she feels so utterly taken care of that the tears are threatening to spill. 

“You’re an artist,” Raelle says softly. “I’ll have to add that to the list of things I know about you.”

It earns a light laugh from the brunette. “You have a list too?”

Raelle runs her slender fingers through Scylla’s hair and lets out a breath. She has that look in her eyes, the one where storm and fury is replaced by something all too tender and full of heart. 

“You have brown hair and blue eyes and a perfect nose,” Raelle starts. “You’re a necro. You like mushrooms-- and drawing, which I just learned. You want everyone to think you drink your coffee black, but you actually put a shitload of sugar in it.” 

Scylla lets out a tearful chuckle as the blonde continues, voice brimming with emotion. 

“And I think you might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Scyl,” she says, and it’s the most vulnerable Scylla has ever seen her. “I think I—”

Raelle hesitates for a moment and Scylla wants to scream _don’t say it, please don’t say it_ because she knows that if Raelle Collar looks at her like this and tells her she loves her, it’s all over, there’s no going back. Fuck the military and fuck the Spree, she’ll take Raelle and run. She’ll end the world for this girl.

Maybe some merciful deity above grants her wish, or maybe Raelle just sees the fear in her eyes. 

“I think you’re the best thing in my life,” she finishes. 

Scylla nods in silent understanding, sits up to kiss Raelle so she doesn’t notice her tears. She wraps her arms around the blonde, disappears into her lips and tries to pretend that Raelle doesn’t love her because things are just easier that way. 

But denial is pointless. Raelle may not have said the words, but Scylla knows. She sees it in every affectionate glance, feels it in every warm touch. The brush of her lips against Scylla’s forehead, the grip of her hands on her waist. Every movement is an unspoken declaration.

She closes her eyes and thinks of the list: 

Raelle Collar has blonde hair and blue eyes. She’s stormy and jaded. She’s a target.

She’s also jarringly beautiful. She talks in her sleep and her ideal date is hilltop stargazing. She’s kind and genuine and selfless to a fault. She has a secret hideout filled with glowing flowers. She loves Scylla, recklessly. 

And here, tangled in Raelle’s arms with whispers of devotion in her ear, Scylla loves her back.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you guys enjoyed this one! i love their dynamic and it was super fun to write these scenes, especially the ending!! come yell at me on tumblr @orchardsky if you liked or want more!


End file.
